Broken Stars
by january blue
Summary: [12] He is not dead. [Tieitup.] And she isn't fighting dry sobs. [Lieitup.] And Vinnie never did invent that toaster like he wanted. [bunches of yuffentine drabbles]
1. Exist

**Broken Stars; **_exist_

Breathe in.  
Breathe out.  
You're only as old as you think you are.

It seems like we've been sitting here since the time passing seemed like a good thing. She's staring out the window with a dreamy look on her face. I'm staring at her, naturally. (She would ask you when the last time my expression changed _was, _exactly.)

We are not ourselves... The rain of Wutai has done something to us.

I'm not a monster.

She's not a brat.

We simply exist. Two people in the world.

Then there's the rain. Our only constant. I cling to it with both hands.

"Ya' know, Vinnie," she whispers suddenly, breaking the burning silence. Her gray eyes glitter mischievously, like she's sharing someone else's secret with me when she promised not to tell. Her gaze never leaves the rain. It's inside her. "...I think I felt like that once..." Her voice is strong. A world away from mine. (That's the problem, isn't it? Distance.) "Like we fall all the way down just so the sun can dry us up..."

Her eyes are on fire; suddenly blaring into mine.

The Turk in my gut wants to run. The human in my head wants to stop myself from hurting her. The demon in my chest is pounding against my skin to get out and just be here; be here and be with her and be someone that I didn't let myself be.

_No_—something tells me—that's my heart, isn't it?

"But, sometimes," she tells me urgently, hands sliding into mine. Her face is bright with whatever is behind her depthless eyes. I couldn't attempt a guess. "You just have to let the rain save you from yourself."

There is a voice in my head telling me that she's too close; one telling me that I'm too close; and one is silent, right where it wants to be. I'm right where I want to be.

So, being the selfish creature that I am, I pull her closer, and let my chin rest in her hair, pretending for a second that I'm not old, and she isn't young—that I've no need to atone and she isn't a thief child with skinned knees—that I'm the rain, she's the sun. That we have harmony.

"What do you _want_, you stupid cow?" she asks, muffled words making me shiver.

Over all the quarreling in my head, (forgiveness, light, dark, tears, death), I hear my own voice the clearest. "You."

And her breath only hitches for a second while the rain dripping down the cold window strips our façades and our masks back to that place where time's passing seemed a good thing.

With this girl in my arms I pretend for a moment that I am not a monster—that she is not a brat. I'm feigning brilliance and she has it for real. And while we sit— we almost exist.

A man. A woman. And a rainstorm.


	2. West and East

**Broken Stars; **_west and east_

He said she could find him where East turned into West.  
So, naturally, she tried to wring his neck.

They were proud as they wandered the Planet; separate maybe, but never really apart, because...

Because... why?

She sat down and pondered it one day in her stifling kimono and her blistering sandals, running her softened fingers over the four points of the star in her hand. North, South, East, West. Longish raven hair fell down past her shoulders and brushed against the cold metal.

Because she thought of him whenever a gun shattered the well-placed silence in her city; whenever she heard someone say something clearly enough, but she couldn't grasp it; whenever she felt like she was being watched.

Because she still took a bit of time to send a wish to the moon.

With four points in her mind, she was growing up. Somehow, though, she never really lost that childlike faith.

Never apart... because...

He sat down to think about it in the cold one day with his cloak billowing out majestically behind him and his eyes never shifted from some place beyond the horizon that he never could reach. His fingers curl around the comforting solidity of his gun.

Because he thought of her every time a little girl stomped her foot; whenever he felt like stopping to smell the barely open flowers; when he saw the ravens flying past his vision, and his eyes flick from the place he had been staring. They always got there before he did.

Because he always cracked half an eye to watch the sunrise.

With his eyes straying from the pinpricks of birds in the horizon, he was growing kind. But he never once took off that cloak.

Four points in hand, Yuffie took a deep breath

and said goodbye to the dusk—the East

and faced the sunset—the West

and listened to his broken metaphor shatter against the frozen ground.


	3. Catch a Falling Star

**Broken Stars; **_catch a falling star_..

..and put it in your pocket.  
Save it for a rainy day.

The doors are fading into a blur as I hurdle past them, trying to leave something that I can't define behind me. Where is everyone else as I'm broken and flying to pieces and tripping over my own dangling heartstrings? Well, of course they don't care. Do they? Who cares? No one.

Someone did once.

And these doors, doors, doors are flying—into my past; into a fairytale; into rooms; into his eyes... But I can't open them. It's too hard. And what, oh what do I do when things get hard? Well, I'm running. Obviously. I'm running.

Then it stands before me, solid and strong. I can't open it, but I can feel my hands shaking as my fingertips brush the rough word and I feel him inside. He's inside. And he needs me. I can't, I can't, I can't; but I can feel something ripping in my chest.

Slowly tearing, crying in agony. But it can't stop it. It's helpless. Flimsy paper dolls can't feel pain.

Ripping apart—limb from limb... until there's nothing left but a scrap of what it used to be. What we used to be. Him and me. Paper doll and we're both pretending that pain is a world away. (Then what's that burning in my empty ribcage?)

It's over; something fierce that I didn't know I had inside me opens the door and he is here. Eyes vacant—but alive, chest slow—but moving, the tip of his gun lost in ebony hair... and shaking. He's shaking and I hate it. My hands are in fists when suddenly I'm angry and a thousand fiery words are lashing out at my throat. ...Because he can't do that to me. I think I'd burn out.

When he stares into me with that stupid, awful, beautiful, crimson, I nearly vanish off the Planet.

"You can't."

"I know."

And death falls to the grounds with a clatter.

Never let it fade away.


	4. L O V E

**Broken Stars;**_ L-O-V-E_

We can't say it.  
Don't say it.

She brushes stray onyx hairs from his skin. His breath is soft; heartbeat sluggish. He is sleeping peacefully for the first time in a long time, the woman knows. She knows him. She grins quietly, brushing one pale finger across his lips. Of course she knows him.

And still, sweet ninja, he is aware of nothing but his dreams.

The early sunlight bathes them in a yellow glow. The small one smiles softly, a laugh tinkling like angels in her throat. It isn't as though she thinks his situation is funny. And it isn't as though she cares. She's just happy as all. She simply found a friend.

And that's it.

She found him here hours ago, but she doesn't have the heart to wake him up. Sleeping on the side of the road in Nibelhiem is not something you would expect from a man like him. (She would expect a graveyard and some kind of torn up pillow within sight.) She is happy to see that his coffin doesn't confine him, but unhappy to see the liquor bottles littering the hard ground around his dozing form.

He found no forgiveness, she sees, biting her smooth lip with a wince. She'll help him keep looking.

She watches him carefully, then grins from ear to ear, slumping against the wall beside him casually, as though five years never passed. "How long were you awake?"

There is no reply, but she wasn't expecting one. His breath quickens and one crimson eye is propped open. A weight on her hand lets her know that nothing has changed. He still...you know...

And she never stopped...you know, right..?

Well, they know. But they don't say it.

She grabs the hand he offered with a grin and laughs. "Don't drink, stupid! You'll turn out like that Reno. You know, the one with the fox surgically attached to his head?" A slight shudder passes through her still tiny frame. "...enough said."

He grants her a small curling of his lips and then leans his head against the cement wall, letting that gorgeous smile drift to the heavens.

So they both know that no time has passed at all.


	5. Here

**Broken Stars;** _here _

I always told you that you should have become a man-model and posed in tight leather cat suits. And then you would always reply with your constant, ever annoying and trademarked silence. I would tell you that sins were forgiven easily if you would just open your eyes and see the rest of the world around you. You said that some things are too terrible and I simply didn't know. I punched you. You hardly winced.

But I'm always here.

No matter what you do, always remember, friend, I'm always here.

And...she would be too.

If you love her as much as you say you do, she must have loved you back. She would want you to be happy. She forgives you. Or, maybe there was never anything to forgive. I wouldn't know, would I? You would never tell me with my too-short shorts and my snorting laughter and my ninja clumsiness. But she knew. Did you give her those smiles that I never got to see? Did she let you laugh the laughs that I could never coax out of you?

Was it her that made you like this?

Sometimes I hate her.

Sometimes I hate you too.

But still, I'm here.

Why?

I don't know.

I guess I don't mind you.

I guess I forgive you for being so cold.

Not that you ever gave a hair more than a damn about me anyway. Not that you ever wanted to ask. So, I'm on the short end of the bargain. Because sometimes... I'm thinking that you might be the only thing in the Leviathan-forsaken place that I don't hate.

And when did you ever spare me a thought?

Maybe when a pig flew over the snowmen building demons of hell.

But just remember, I'll always be here. I can't really leave. Not yet. I think I can turn on the light in you. So, just give me a little time... and I can do it. Just give me a moment to burn all my bridges besides the one I built for you.


	6. Angel Wings

**Broken Stars; **_angel wings _

I break the surface with a gasp. There is one thought coursing through my mind, and I am surprised at what it is. As sharp salt water stings my throat, I am plagued by the notion that the monster is thinking in ways he shouldn't be. Caring in ways he shouldn't be. Because, I am feeling as though I've found what I've been looking for. But I can't have, because I'm nothing but demon accidentally born out of hell. And the only thing I can look for is that which won't make me a monster anymore.

I look across the sea into Wutai, and I grimace. I know why I am here, but I can't help but wonder if I really should be. I can't help but be thoroughly convinced that I shouldn't be.

And I can't push away the fluttering happiness in my chest.

By the time I reach the shore and stumble through the town, ignoring the stares of those people who go on evening walks and find that they are scared of even that which helps them, I can hardly walk. A large house comes into view and I keep my eyes low. I find the door and raise a gleaming hand to knock on it. But then I freeze, staring at the arm that came out of my cloak. It twinkles up at me, reminding me that I do not belong here. I have claws. I don't deserve—I am about to turn a way, convinced that she needs someone whole, when the door opens, and her breath hitches in her throat. "Vi—Vinnie?"

I don't reply, just look at her. She has grown. She isn't so small anymore. She is beautiful. Gorgeous. I don't deserve her. What rite does a monster have to love an angel? I shake my head. "I should not have come." I take a step back and she grabs the front of my cloak.

"Oh _shit_, Vincent. You're not pulling that one again." She pulls me towards her, until our noses nearly touch. I shake my head again, but there isn't any resistance left under my skin. She doesn't need to be tainted. I'm missing pieces. She doesn't need to be like me. I don't think I could stand it. She looks up at me imploringly, stormy gray eyes wide, whispering, "Ju—just stay." She is staring into my heart and holding on to me like I could save her.

...the monster would only tear the angel's wings with its claws—tainted claws.

"Please..." There is something deadly lacing the words on her tongue.

Maybe I could. I could try.

"Are you sure?"

She grins against my neck, "Hell no... I'm _eons _too old for you."


	7. Held

**Broken Stars; **_held_

She couldn't, she couldn't, but she did. He wouldn't, _wouldn't, _but he did. They did, they did, and what happens now, they will wonder? What happens when the sun comes up and the magic is over and reality comes crashing through the door where it isn't welcome? What happens when there are no more actions to speak so loud, and the words all they have left?

What happens when they choke on the feelings they are dying to say?

They fell once, they fell, they fell with the rain; they fell with her tears; and they fell, they fell with everything that ever meant something. Or it used to.

But that doesn't matter, they say. All that matters, they will say when the actions run out, is that they got back up. They stood and were strong. They stood when no one was there to help them to their trembling, frail feet. They stood, they stood and they were so proud. So proud because they were strong.

The absolute calm is shattered when she lets the little groan escape her. She expects to feel nothing; nothing. But she doesn't. She feels; _feels _his warmth and she thought he never had any. She doesn't recollect for a moment. She is drunk with sleep and hovering in that place between your dreams and your reality where you wish you could stay when the waking world claws at you. The memories come cascading back and those stormy eyes are open. They contrast against pale skin, never exposed to the sunlight, but bathed in it now. Soak it up. Soak it up. The memories come, come and she remembers. She remembers...

Leviathan, how could they?

His arms are around her and she is held. But he holds her small body gently, gently, because he doesn't want to hurt her; not his angel. He wants to stay like this forever, but then he too remembers and his eyes are open and he regrets. Because he did hurt her, he is convinced. He did.

She knows he didn't, but she knows he is about to. She begs him no; please, please, I forgive you.

He murmurs his apologies in her ear; so sorry, so sorry. My angel, my angel. His breath lingers on her bare shoulders and they shake and quake and she can't read his eyes like she could before. She couldn't. She wishes she doesn't remember. And he's so sorry. And she just wishes it had never happened.

He hurt her, he hurt her; he can't bare it; she can't bare it. So, they fall, they fall and they can't get back up. They _can't. _

And she falls apart against the memory of how is smile felt against her heart.


	8. Me, Him, and Us

**Broken Stars; **_me, him, and us_

Sweet mission with a Valentine.

Well, first, there is me and I am free and I am youth and I am _present._ Then there is me and my Conformer and it's flying through the air and I'm on the ground but not for long. No, no, no… I'll fly too, don't worry. I'm not grounded for long. Yeah, yeah, then I'll fly with my spinning star because it's perfect and it's _flying._

And then, second, there is him and he is trapped in himself and he is a voice and he is _somewhere_. There is him and he is shooting and his eyes are bullets and his fingers are triggers and his spirit is a gun and he is alive, just barely. Then he is there with me and he's alive, just barely. I am tugging him up, up. But no, no, don't touch him, Yuffie. He's so hard. He's so cold. But he's _alive._ And he's old and trapped and I am going to fly and he's going to be a bird.

There is him, but he isn't flying.

And there is me, and I'm making stupid mistakes and he's paying for them and I'm so damn _sorry_ but I can't stop it because then he's somewhere again and he's gone and I'm here and we are both on the ground, fighting, fighting. Bang, swing, spin.

We're there together, but I'm the only one who notices.

Then there's me and my stupid mistakes and there's him bleeding and there's me running, running, bustling around him, Sry.Sry.Sry. Vowelless and doubleless and useless. I'm not ok. I'm grounded. I'm in trouble. _He's_ in trouble. But then there is him and he is shaking his head and he is soft and I adore him when he's soft and he's saying, No, no. Nothing to be sorry for. And there's me and I'm thinking, screaming inside that he's a hypocrite. But there's _me_ being silent because he's so _soft_ and I'm so _happy_ and I don't want to ruin it.

Then there's him and he's sleeping, so poetic and metaphorical and present. And there's me and I'm thinking that he's so much better this way and I'm watching him breathe the hair away from his face. And there's that _hair_ that I want to touch and it's swaying and so _soft. _And there's his gun and he's cradling it and I wish I was there, but no, no, no. I am _here_ and he is _there_ and we are together but we aren't.

And there's me, watching him sleep and wishing I wasn't until I fall into sleep myself.

Then there's him, all wonderful in the sunrise and he was watching me too, because when I wake up, I can feel something like sticky-sweet-summer kisses on my skin. (Red eyes.) Then I'm feeling something like shivers and honey in my bones. (His heart.) And we're together.

Yeah…

Then there's us.


	9. No Idea

**Broken Stars; **_no idea_

Vincent Valentine, high-panted and pointy-toed and in all his glory, knows absolutely everything about anything in the known universe. He knows when the sun will cover the star in the far corner of the sky and he knows when the bullet will crack the bone in his right hand index finger and he knows when the shit will hit the fan—and when it's all over.

And then..

..it all comes down to her, and suddenly he doesn't know anything at all.

When she looks at him, of course he has no idea what she's thinking. And when she smiles, he has no idea what about a sunny day could make someone so happy and alive—and unlike him. ...Because he is far from alive, he thinks. And he is far from the daylight, he thinks. And his assumptions are far from himself, she thinks.

And when he kisses her in the mud and the rocks and when she looks like a baboon with a manic smile and when he looks like a duck with bloody feathers and when she is trying to pull him out of a rain puddle and when they are in quite the most unromantic position that either of the them has ever seen, he has no idea what he's doing. She had no idea what he is doing. And will she smile? Will she cry? ...Will she run around screaming that the vampire is a closet child-molester?

Oh, well.

Vincent Valentine has no idea.

And maybe… he doesn't know everything after all.

* * *

**•**•**•**

* * *

_Okay… so… I pretty much rewrote all of the earlier chapters. And took one out. So, some of you may not be able to review unless you do it anonymously. Sorry! Sorry! I'm the devil, I know. –dies– I've had this waiting around for way too long. _**-J.BLUE** (m) 


	10. Almost 1,2,3

**Broken Stars; **_almost (1,2,3)_

Help me, because I'm breaking down..  
You almost make me smile.  
(Almost.)

She feels those calloused fingers on her paling face. (1,2,3) _She's still pushing, pushing on. Stronger than this._ There is something trickling awful-slow down the side of her face. She almost smiles past the pain. (Almost.) Veins still pumping. (1,2,3) And yeah, yeah, yeah, she's still pushing.

This girl has seen love.

It is bloody. (She saw the claws coming down, of course. She didn't fight it.) And she almost smiles. He is safe. (Almost.) But, for now, all she knows is pain, pain, pain and bullets whistling through deathly still air. (How ironic.) She almost laughs in that _deathly _still air, but it just _hurts _so damn bad, Vinnie. And it's grinding stones against the inside of her skull.

Love is awful, that's what it is, she decides, tender hands trying—aching—just to move. (Pick up a sharp star and it'll be okay.) Crimson drips from her finger tips. (1,2,3) She's still pushing, Valentine. And why not, huh? Why shouldn't she try?

There is a whimper. _Who's that?_ She almost snickers. It's her, of course. (She's pathetic.)

(1,2,3-1,2,3) death waltz on the underside of her temples.

Yeah, that's it… Love is her death…

Horrible and tempting and _pushing…_

Then pauses, feeling the soft brushing of… (her words are slipping.) Or is it the kisses that he's trailing up the side of her neck?

_Kiss it better. Save me._

She's breaking down.

And she almost smiles when the (1,2,3) slows to a stop.

...almost.


	11. Table of Contents

**Broken Stars;** _table of contents_

Chapter One: Doing Bad Things  
Chapter Two: Feeling Sorry For Yourself  
Chapter Three: Running From Angry Ninjas

—_Section S:_experiment valentine discovers himself

There was broken glass. There was soaked—dripping. Everything was wet. Wet with the redness and _what did I do?_ I looked down at my hands, and they were broken glass. And they were wet. There was the fact that I couldn't remember. There was the fact that I did anyway. Blurry images of her face. Fuzzy sounds in the back of my mind. I could hear her voice: _monster. _That's what she was saying. I could remember losing control. Blurry images of that face.

_What did I do?_

Then there was darkness. Then there was sleep. Then there was Chaos.

—_Section I:_redemption and the lack of seeking it

A point of light, a scream of vampire, and suddenly, I was awake again, I was _alive_ again. And from then on, it was all brightness and laughing and crying and together. All of us together. Which was new. Which was nice. They didn't know. They didn't _care._ We were a group of wrongdoers and forgiveness-seekers, and I couldn't forget the fact that _they didn't care._ Which was nice.

There was evil. There was justice. There was materia. I could feel the materia sliding over my fingers. There was the fact that I first noticed her just after she stole my belongings. And that the night after she gave them back, she came to me and cried. There was the fact that I didn't hold her.

The fact that she didn't need me to.

There was justice. And my purpose in the brightness was gone. So, then… it was over.

And she didn't need me.

—_Section N:_the fact of no communication and finding him

Well, at first, there was just… a blur of places. A blur of faces. And the fact that I couldn't forget either of them. But the first didn't surprise me—she was the woman I was in love with. The woman who call me a monster. And she didn't deserve to be forgotten.

But then there was the other that was pasted to the inside of my head. And that was a surprise. Because she was all orange sneakers and tan skin and princess and materia and thief and stars. That's what she was. She wasn't any part of me.

Then there was her and finding me. It was strange to round a corner and hear my name shrieked out and hear the joy in her voice. And the fact that she threw herself into my arms. There was also that I didn't resist. There was also that I embraced her right back.

There were also the tears.

In the end—here was thing—I spelled my life out in letters. s i n. She spelled my life out in words. Guns. Baka. and there was also the fact of Her.


	12. Tie it Up

**Broken Stars;** _tie it up_

He's not dead.

She turns this thought round and round on its head, letting light filter through it this way and that. It's not a hard concept to understand really. Just a simple one-two as her fingers tear the program to shreds. It's not, is it? Nah—she's alright. She takes this concept in her hands and weaves it into a string—pulls it tight across her throat.

Tie-it-up. Lie-it-up. One, two, three..

Hmph—here's why…

First of all, they'd been here plenty of times. Had a funeral—she'd been asked to do the eulogy. 1, 2, 3 times.

Not once did she do it.

Not once was he actually dead. Came and showed up a few days later, like, "What'd I miss?" They'd been so _sure._

Not once did she do it.

There was always this nice, cheesy little oil portrait with those big, red eyes shining off into the distance and him all majestic and looking like he could invent a toast-making iPod made of soda crackers. Jeez, that painting. She'd hung it up in Tifa's bathroom when no one was looking. And now it was out _again_—the bathroom must have been lonely. You know those portraits, the kind that all the old, old people are in—except, their wrinkles have mysteriously disappeared and _I could have sworn that her eyes were brown before._

Pitiful.

She's not having any of it.

Lies.

A big, fat pack of iPod-toasted, soda-crackin' _lies._

Here's why—he _sleeps _in coffins.

The keyword being: freaking _sleeps. _(Read also: still breathing.)Watching his chest rise and fall._ Still breathing. _**Not dead.**

Of course she isn't fighting off the dry sobs while she rips that little program with its list of songs and speeches and Bible verses and his name, his name, _his _name. Of course she isn't.

Here's why—

It's too small.

That God-forsaken rectangle of wood. Is too damn _small._ He wouldn't fit. He's too tall. He's too big. He's too much above her… And, Leviathan, his _feet._

The coffin is too small.

He isn't in there.

He can't be.

And besides, how do you fight off screams that aren't coming? Which they aren't. At _all._

She shakes. Drops the little pieces of the verses and the hymns and his face all over the floor. And she stares that stupid oil painting in the face and tells him silently—_you are not dead._

The painting looks none too convinced.

But since when did oil and canvas know squat about squat, _anyway?_

She cries. Sobs. Begs. God, _please._

He is not dead.

She flips the thought over tongue. Ties it into a pretty, little bow. Does it up in her hair. (One, two, three.) And for a second she tastes a tiny bit of hope in the back of her throat. And it's gone before she realizes.

Another second passes. One.

And a-two.

And he lies in a too-small coffin and she lies to herself.

And a-three..

And she's still there. And he's still not.


End file.
